


New Years Day 1995

by helsinkibaby



Series: The Pieces of my Life [4]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Het, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:44:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2142807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg and Ellie talk on New Years Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Years Day 1995

It is New Year's Day 1995 and Ellie sits in her room, alternately reading and looking out the window. It has been snowing, the fields of her father's farm covered in pristine blankets of white, shadows of the bare tree branches stretching along the ground courtesy of the hazy sunshine. It's a lovely day, and she knows that she should be outside, where she can see her father and her elder sister Elizabeth walking towards the house, towards her younger sister Zoey, who is in the middle of a spirited snowball fight with Liz's daughter, Annie. Ellie knows, like she knows her own name, that her father and Liz will undoubtedly join in, that the resulting shouts and yells will draw out Doug, Liz's husband, and it will become this huge family free-for-all, and she knows that she should join in.

But still, she sits curled up on her chair beside the window and looks out, and dips in and out of her book.

It would be easier, she thinks, if Mom were here, but Mom was on call today, and had to go in to the hospital, so she's not around to act as intermediary between Ellie and her father, whose relationship is complicated to say the least. At least that's what Ellie always tells people, but she can boil it down to something very simple, the fact that she doesn’t know what to say to her father, doesn't know how to make him happy.

She's not like Elizabeth, she of the long glossy black hair and stunning good looks, the woman with the perfect husband and the perfect kids and the perfect life. Liz was the first born child, the apple of her parents' eyes for a number of years, and Ellie's often thought that when she came along, her father just couldn't look past the wonder of Liz to see her, that Liz was still a novelty while she, Ellie, was ground that had already been travelled.

Nor is she like Zoey, the baby of the family, and according to her father, the most perfect child that God ever put on the earth. He's worshipped her since the day that she was brought home from the hospital, put her up on a pedestal even higher than the one Liz used to occupy, and Ellie knows that she can never, ever, measure up to her sisters.

So she doesn't try, does her own thing instead, and that seems to vex her father even more. Conversations are strained between them, and she can never wait to get away from him lest she do something, say something, that makes him even more disappointed in her. Her mother can smooth over the cracks, but not Zoey, and not Liz, because when she's around them, she can't help but feel inferior, can't help but feel even more awkward.

She thinks that's why she applied to Stanford, why most of her college choices were on the far side of the country. Her father wanted her to go to Notre Dame of course, but that would have meant that she was constantly being measured against him, that he would constantly be asking her about her courses, and she didn't think she could take that kind of pressure. Harvard and Yale were his two other top choices for her, but her own had always been Stanford, and she's never regretted that decision, not even when it seemed like every other freshman around her was complaining about homesickness, about missing their family.

Ellie loves Stanford, and while she loves her family too, is happy to see them, to be home for Christmas, there's still a part of her that wishes she was back in California.

Her thoughts are interrupted when the phone on her bedside table rings, and her head turns sharply towards it, frowning. That's her private line, all the Bartlet daughters have one, but precious few people have Ellie's number, and most of them are outside playing in the snow. She crosses the room in a few quick steps, sits down on the bed as she raises the phone to her ear, says, "Hello?"

"Hi…" It's a familiar voice, and only once has she ever heard its owner sound so hesitant. "May I speak to Ellie please?"

"This is Ellie." She's grinning at his formality. "Greg?"

Any doubt is removed by his next words; he talks right over her. "Eleanor! Happy New Year! How are things in New Hampshire? Wild night of partying?"

She rolls her eyes, settling back on the bed, leaning back against the pillows. Conversations with Greg tend to be long-winded affairs. "Hardly," she says dryly. "Being the Governor's daughter tends to limit the possibility of underage drinking." Which is also part of the reason she likes Stanford so much, the anonymity. "What about you?"

"Family party," he tells her. "And let's just say that no-one cared too much what went into my glass."

Somehow though, he doesn't sound happy about it, even though she hears the distinct edge of humour in his voice, and she makes the connection instantly. "You're suffering huh?"

He groans, and she knows she hit the nail right on the head. "You know it," he confirms, and when she laughs, he groans again. "You might show some sympathy you know," he grouses.

"All self inflicted," she shoots back, and there's a second of silence.

"OK, you got me there." A pause. "I still say you could be more sympathetic."

"I'm cruel like that."

"You sure are." There's another pause, and Ellie's sure that Greg's leading up to something. Once again, her guess is confirmed when he says, "So… how are things in New Hampshire? Really?"

Ellie sighs, looks out the window at the snow covered fields outside. "It's been snowing," she tells him, hears him chuckle.

"Been making snow angels without me?"

His joke makes her blush, remembering that night before Christmas break when he was acting so strangely and they ended up kissing. It was just a one off thing, she reminds herself now, no matter how much she wants things to be otherwise. She's been nursing a crush on Greg, probably since the first time she met him, but she knows he doesn't feel the same way about her. She tells herself that she's ok with that, that it doesn't matter to her, reminds herself that she knows what Greg is like with girls, has seen how they come and go with him. She's never wanted to be just another notch on his bedpost, and she's certainly not willing to sacrifice what they have now. His friendship is enough for her she tells herself firmly.

It is.

Even if she felt that kiss all the way down to the tips of her toes.

"Not yet," she tells him now, shaking her head to clear the thoughts. "Though Annie and Zoey are out there now." And from here, she can see her dad and Liz laughing at them.

"And yet you're inside by the phone." His tone is light, but she can hear the question underneath. Then he asks it anyway. "Everything ok?"

She shrugs even though he can't see her, concentrates on twisting the phone cord around her fingers. "The usual," she admits finally. "I don't know what to say to him, he doesn't know what to say to me, and we do this whole formal dance around each other…" She sighs, shaking her head. "Mom got called into the hospital… and judging from the snow, even if she's able to leave tonight, she might not be able to get back."

"That's right." Greg sounds hugely amused suddenly. "You guys are a million miles away from civilisation, right?"

"Twenty five miles, give or take," Ellie confirms, rolling her eyes, tilting her head back so it hits against her headboard. It feels pretty good, so she does it again. "Awasini Odinack," she adds. "Far from the things of man."

"You know, just when I think you can't get any odder…" Greg teases, and despite herself, she finds herself laughing.

"Did you just call me up to insult me?" she demands, expecting a joking "Yes" as reply. What she gets instead though is Greg at his most earnest.

"No. I called you to wish you 'Happy New Year'. And to make sure you were doing ok."

She closes her eyes, a smile spreading across her face. "I'm fine," she tells him, and for the first time all day, she feels fine.

"Also to tell you that we have seventy three degrees of glorious sunshine in San Gabriel and I'm heading to the beach in a couple of hours," he continues, making her eyes fly open, then narrow in a glare, even though she's laughing again.

"I'm happy for you," she says, tucking a strand of hair back behind her ears. Just then, there's a noise at his end of the phone, someone calling his name.

"Hang on." She hears him shout to whoever is calling him that he'll just be a minute, and then he's back on, sounding contrite. "My mom. Apparently we have to go visit my grandmother… looks like my surfing is going to have to wait."

"How tragic for you." Contrary to her words though, she's hugely amused, something that does not go unnoticed by Greg.

"When we get back to Stanford, we're seriously going to have to talk about you and sympathy," he tells her, and she laughs again.

"And if you don't go downstairs, you're not gonna make it back to Stanford," she tells him sweetly.

"You got me. Again. Look, I'll call later in the week… Happy New Year Ellie. Again."

"Happy New Year Greg." He listens to her say the words, then he's gone, her ear filled by a dial tone, and she stares at the phone in her hand for a long moment before laying it down on the bed. Then she looks across the room at the book resting on the chair, and beyond that, to the snow outside, where, as she predicted, a full-blown snowball fight has broken out.

Smiling again, feeling brave, she stands, grabs her coat and goes outside to join in.  



End file.
